To See A World In A Grain Of Sand
by StandingOnTheRooftops
Summary: AU. 3x4, 1x2, CxH, and eventual 5xSP. When Quatre- lost in more ways than one- stumbles into a quiet book store, he finds that maybe he's not quite as lost as he'd thought. And maybe Quatre can heal the age-old wounds in store-keeper Trowa's jaded heart.
1. Chapter 1

To See A World In A Grain Of Sand

AU, with two main pairings. 3x4, which leads to 5xSP. existing 1x2 and CBxHS. Slight language, het and yaoi pairings. eventual lemon/lime maybe. Don't own GW.

Chapter One

"To see a world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wildflower,

hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour."

Quatre sighed, holding back a curse-word that dearly wanted to come out. Stupid cell-phone. What good was it if the battery went dead on him. And why didn't he have his car-charger with him? He probably should have listened to Iria and never left in the first place.

And damn. He needed to call Wufei. He looked around him. It was ten fifteen at night, and he was on the wrong side of town, he guessed. These buildings were all rather old and decrepit. He could have sworn there was a hooker on the side of the road about three blocks back. Nothing was open. He saw two places with lights still on. One, was a quaint looking little shop with a sign that said 'A Grain of Sand', the other a seedy gas station- B.J.'s Quickie Mart. Quatre blanched at the name of the second place.

Quatre really didn't want to even unlock his doors for a moment in this side of town, but he supposed he must. And between the two options he had... there wasn't much of a decision to be made. Taking a deep breath, Quatre gathered his nerves, and opened the door of the car. He quickly locked it behind him, rushing to the shop door, praying that it was open. The lights were on behind the drawn curtains, but that didn't mean anything. He reached the door at nearly a run. There was some inscription on the door's sign, but he didn't pause to read it, instead opening the (thankfully un-locked) door. A cheerfully sweet chiming filled the air, announcing his arrival to the world.

Wow... was all Quatre could think. Half of the shop was covered ceiling to floor in bookshelves, with a good five double-sided book stands arranged in between them. Part of the other half held a cozy little nook in front of the window, with a few plush chairs and a love-seat all artfully arranged with a few warm oak end tables. The overhead lights were comfortable dim, but a few artistically placed floor lamps added illumination, as did the table lamps in the nook area. It was a small shop, but the decorator, who'd chosen beautiful artwork and sketches to adorn the book-shelf-less walls, had used a cozy light amber for the walls that complemented the oak floors and really added a sense of space to the place. And over by the far wall was a small counter with a cash register on it, and a turntable of paperback books. A few promotional posters adorned the front of the counter, but they all seemed to blend effortlessly into the decor. Another counter running along the wall next to the cash register had a coffee maker on it. It was an utterly charming little book shop. 'A Grain of Sand', he thought. Charming name for a charming place.

"Sorry, but we're closing for the night," a voice rang out. Quatre turned towards the voice. A man carrying a small stack of books was walking out of an 'Employees Only' door. Fairly tall, with a shock of caramel brown hair falling over half his face. Body covered in a long sleeved olive green turtle-neck sweater and neat blue jeans.

"Pardon, my bad," Quatre apologized. "I was just wondering if I could borrow a phone. My cell just died on me, and I really need to contact my friend. I'm afraid I'm not from around here and I think I may be lost."

"Oh," The man finally looked at him, really looked at him. Quatre could only imagine how he looked. His prim slacks and button-down shirt. His vest... jacket having been left in the car. His hair had to be a mess from the hours of driving. He probably had dark circles under his eyes from the last few days on minimal sleep.

"Of course," the man said. "Right over here." Setting his stack of books onto the counter, he turned the phone around to face Quatre.

"Thank you," Quatre replied, picking up the phone. "This means alot."

He dialed Wufei's number from his memory. It picked up on the first ring.

"Winner? Is that you? Oh, Nataku. Where are you?"

"That's the problem," Quatre sighed. "I kinda don't know."

"What do you mean? Are you lost?"

Quatre swallowed, worry fading away a little. "No... I don't know where I am, but I'm not lost, because that's *not* the definition of being lost."

"Smart-ass," was Wufei's reply. "Can you tell me anything about where you're at?"

"My cell died, and I didn't have my charger. I'm using the phone at a book store. The place is called 'A Grain Of Sand'. It's on Seventh Street."

"Seventh Street? My God, Winner. That's all the way on the other side of the city... they call that part of the city Oz. It's like a black hole, you get lost in Oz and you're never coming back, ruby slippers or no ruby slippers. Is it safe for you to stay put for about half an hour? I'll come and you can follow me out."

"Hold on one moment, Wufei."

Quatre looked at his host.

"I hate to be a bother," he said, "But is there any way I can wait in here for about thirty minutes? My friend's on his way to pick me up, and I really don't feel safe out on the street."

"You shouldn't... it's not safe this time of night," his host said. "I usually leave at eleven, so as long as he's here by then, sure."

"Thank you so much," Quatre told him before relaying the information to Wufei. He hung up a moment later with Wufei on his way.

"It's really nice of you to do this," Quatre said, shifting from foot to foot. He was becoming very nervous. Not of a worried kind, but of a different kind. He'd known for a few years now that he preferred members of the same sex as opposed to those of the opposite sex... it was why he'd fought with his parents, why he was coming here to stay with Wufei for a while. And from what the tight shirt and skimming jeans told him... there was quite a beautifully honed body beneath them.

"You should be more careful," the guy told him, proceeding to slowly sort the books into separate spaces on the turning rack of paperbacks on the counter. "Oz isn't the type of neighborhood to get lost in. If you're around here, you need someone to look out for you. Or better yet... you don't need to be around here. This side of town isn't the type of place for young, successful men like yourself, with class and decency."

"And do you not fit that description?"

The guy laughed, and Quatre found that it was a full, rich sound. He really liked this man's laugh and wanted to hear it again... and again, and again.

"Certainly not," was the reply. "I'm struggling to keep a book store afloat in a part of town where reading is not the most common hobby."

Quatre shruged. "This place is yours? So, you're an entrepreneur. Maybe you're just getting started, but it sounds to me like your successful. And pardon me, but you *look* quite young. No older than twenty-six or so, if I hazard to guess. As for class, it shows in this place. And the decency... well, what do you call what you're doing with me? Helping me? If that's not decency..."

His host set down the books in his hands, and turned very vivid green eyes to Quatre. "For all you know, I could be worse than the men you'd find on the street. How do you know that I'm not sick and perverted? That I'm not about to cart you into a hidden back room and have my wicked way with you while you scream for mercy?"

Even as a shiver ran down his spine, Quatre forced himself to cock his head to the side to peer at the man better. "Are you?" was his innocent reply, laced deceptively with false humor and hope. Truth was, he was a fairly good judge of people's characters, and he didn't think this man would hurt him.

The man blinked for a moment, then burst out laughing, before quickly recovering.

"You are either seriously naive, are really into S&M, or are way too intelligent to be slumming around in a town like this. Which is it?"

Quatre smiled what he hoped was a flirtatious smile. He wasn't quite skilled in that area, but he could hope. And practice made perfect, as they said. He settled his elbows on the counter and peered at his host.

"Now, why would I tell you that?"

"Because I asked?"

"But that takes away the mystery, doesn't it?" Quatre argued, actually surprised at how easy this came to him. "Think about it like one of those novels over in the thriller section. Mysterious blond damsel in distress shows up in the middle of the night, just as the lonly shop-keeper is about to close down. A little witty banter, and the tables turn ever so slightly to where the shop-keeper starts to wonder weather the blond was really a damsel in distress or actually alot less innocent than he suspected."

"Ah," was the reply, as the man leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows, his face only a few inches from Quatre's own. "But there are two distinctions here. First... who says I'm lonely? And second... I don't need to wonder weather you are as innocent as I suspected. I know that you are."

"You look lonely," Quatre said in answer to the first question, then for the statement, he had a question of his own. "How praytell do you *know* that?"

"The way you move, the way you speak. There is an aura about you that screams innocence and purity and chastity. Unless you are the world's greatest actor, my guess is that you've never had sex with a man before. I doubt you've ever had sex with a woman either. And probably not well practiced in the flirting department. More than likely a sheltered, secluded child, raised under Daddy's thumb, Mommy's little boy. Spoiled, doted upon, but kept from life's simple pleasures. Probably went to a nice foreign boarding school, maybe Catholic or something of the sort. Recently decided you didn't like something your parents did or didn't do, and decided to rebel against them. You'd do well to have a care about *who* you try your flirting skills on in this city. Many men will take it as an 'Open Buffet' sign. They would try... and most likely succeed... to take more than you're willing to give." Those green eyes stared hard into his. Quatre swallowed, having the sudden urge to straighten back up... an urge he gave into. Some of those points hit a little close to home.

"You're right," he said. "On a few instances. I'm not *that* experienced. I've never had sex with a man, though I have with a woman, on occasions. I guess I'm not all that good at flirting, either. I did have a sheltered life, groomed to be my father's heir and successor. My mother died when I was born," he stated. "My sister Iria pretty much raised me. And it was a secluded school in New England... that's where I met my friend Wufei. Recently, my friend Sei accidently let it slip to a friend of a friend that I was bi. News got back to my father, who disowned me. Iria tried to reason with him, but I didn't make things any better when I up and walked out. so don't presume to know me."

"Then don't presume to walk into my shop and try out your pathetic little flirting on me," the man rose back up also, braced his hands on the counter. "You're a nice kid. Go get yourself a nice apartment, go to school if you haven't already, and find yourself a nice, decent boyfriend who wan's to take care of you and spoil you. You deserve that."

"I think I deserve what I want," Quatre said in response.

"Or is it what you *think* you want. Adventure, romance, danger, adrenaline, the thrill of something your parents would hate. What you really want is a nice decent guy who'll make you breakfast in bed, dote upon your every whim, and never ask more than you're willing to give."

Quatre got a sneaking suspicion that this man was trying to protect him. But from who? The answer Quatre's instinct told him was he was trying to protect the silly little blond from who he saw as a bad-guy... his own self. But Quatre didn't want or need protecting. He knew what he wanted.

"What I want," he said, laying it all out, leaning his arms onto the counter, mimicking the other's own stance, "is you."

For a moment, the shop-keeper looked taken back.

"I'm not what you think," was the eventual reply. "You don't want me."

"I do," Quatre nodded. "Around twenty minutes ago, before my hand touched that door... I would have said that I wanted everything you said I did. The safe, simple life. Breakfast in bed and all of that. But these past few minutes, I've decided I want a guy who cares enough to try to protect me, even if it's from himself."

He saw a look of confusion sweep across that face, followed by the faint tint of red at being so easy to read.

"Yes," Quatre smiled smugly. "I like to hope I fall into that third category you mentioned. I'm smart enough to know what you're doing. And I'm romantic enough to appreciate it. But I know what I'm doing. I *am* a big boy, after all. I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

"Mistakes, you mean."

Quatre shrugged. "If that's how you see yourself," he conceded.

Right about then, the door opened, a sweet jingling announcing Wufei's arrival behind them.

"Quatre," Wufei said in a relieved tone. Quatre knew that Wufei only used his first name if he was upset or worried. It seemed relief fell into that category as well.

"Hello, Wufei," he greeted, turning around. "I can't thank you enough for this."

"You're my friend," Wufei returned. "It's the least I could do. And you know I feel responsible."

"You didn't tell my parents," he pointed out reasonably.

"But I did convince you to tell Sei. I never thought she'd run her mouth like that."

Quatre shrugged. "What's done is done. Are you ready to go?"

"Of course." He turned back to his host. "Thank you for your kindness... and the intriguing conversation. I enjoyed it very much." He smiled. "And through all of this... I don't even know your name."

"Hm." was the reply.

Quatre stood for a moment, then shrugged, then turned to follow Wufei out of the door. Wufei was outside, and Quatre's hand was on the door when he heard it. That soft voice calling after him.

"If you must call me something... call me Trowa."

Quatre grinned brightly. "Thank you... Trowa." He liked the way the name felt rolling off his tongue. A nice name.

"You're welcome... and come again, Quatre."

Wufei had his head tilted to the side in curiosity. Quatre merely smiled and shrugged to his friend.

Somehow, Quatre got the feeling he was going to like living in the city of Libra.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

*One Month Later*

Quatre loved his new life. Wufei had lent him the spare bedroom of his rather nice, upscale apartment. They shared bills and grocery costs, and as their routines and likes and dislikes were mostly similar, they got along pretty well. Of course, Quatre had knew they would. They'd shared a dorm at Clifton School for Boys and Girls outside of Boston, and gotten along well back then.

True to word, Wufei had managed to get him an interview with the higher ups of Romefeller Corporation. Quate, likable and intelligent as he was, aced the interview and landed a position as a computer programmer in the same department as Wufei. They had gone to college together, with the same majors, though Wufei's minor had been history and Quatre's music.

Most of his evenings and days off were spent quietly reading in 'A Grain Of Sand's little reading nook, or talking about all matter of things with Trowa, the mysterious shop-keeper. He'd learned lots of things in that short month. He'd learned that Trowa was twenty-seven; a few years older than his own twenty three, but that didn't bother Quatre in the least- his mother had been an entire fifteen years younger than his father. He'd learned that Trowa preferred tea to the coffee he provided at his customer's preference; Quatre had no preference and would drink either or. He'd learned that Trowa had worked as a librarian before this, and that the book store was less than a year old, still in the fledgling stages. He learned that Trowa was single, and that he had leased the shop and the small apartment above it, where he lived. And most important of all, he'd learned that Trowa at least harbored some affection of sorts for him. Some little spark of attraction. But so far, all they'd done was talked. And talked, and talked. Mostly it was either idle chatter- the newest book or movie, the latest political scandal, and things like that. Sometimes, it was a little more serious- 'The Arguement' as Quatre referred to his reason for leaving, Trowa's three years spent in the Army in Iraq and the brief bout of amnesia resulting from a roadside bomb that had all forced him to take a honorable discharge. The death of Quatre's mother was brought up, and the fact that Trowa was an orphan- his father dying in a drive-by shooting and his mother walking out not long after. They discovered that their sister's had raised both of them. Nothing was ever really off-limits when they were talking. Each knew how far they could pry before the other clammed up, but each purposely pushed those boundaries little by little. For Quatre, it was always unique and engaging to talk with Trowa- whether it was to debate politics or to lend a ear to the day's woes. Their friendship, while certainly far from cemented, was blooming and growing slowly.

It was a Sunday when Quatre arrived at the bookstore in the evening, as the sun was setting. Sunday's Quatre usually spent with Wufei or with Dorothy, another friend from boarding school. Dorothy, though, he'd been friends with since infancy almost, as the Winner's and Catalonia's were close, and distantly related. Dorothy had just moved to Libra a month or so before Quatre, having completed law school and landing a job with Noventa and Lake, Attorneys at Law.

But Wufei had been called in to finish an important program, and Dorothy was out of town at a convention. And staring at the sign, Quatre almost cried. He'd completely forgotten that the shop was closed on Sunday's. Trowa had told him that he usually spent Sunday evenings upstairs reading, after meeting up with friends for a late lunch.

Trowa would be home, upstairs. And Quatre *really* didn't want to spend the rest of the day alone. So, he walked around the building to the stairs and door that lead to the apartment from outside. He'd never been up there before, but Quatre figured that now was as good a time as any to test the grounds of his tentative friendship with the book-store owner.

Of course the doorbell would be broken, Quatre thought, staring at the remains of the buzzer. So he knocked... loudly.

A minute ticked by, then another. So Quatre knocked again... maybe Trowa hadn't heard him. After another ten minutes, and three more knocks, Quatre wondered what was wrong. Trowa's pattern never deviated. That was a small detail he'd learned in one of Trowa's rare 'open' moments. That Trowa liked routine and schedule and rarely deviated from his set pattern.

So, to Quatre, something must have been wrong. He pulled out his car keys, and the small pin he kept on the ring, for those unfortunate occasions he locked himself out of car or apartment. It was a useful little trick he'd learned from Dorothy years ago in boarding school. Back then... Dorothy had been a wild child with all sorts of hand little tidbits. Quatre had often wondered where she'd learned them... but had thought it better if he didn't know.

It took him only a a minute to pick his way through the lock and deadbolt. He slowly, quietly opened the door, stepped into a dimly lit living area, and closed the door behind him. It was then that the strong arms wrapped around him. One around his neck, the other his arms and chest, effectively pinning him against a strong, hard body.

"What do you want?" a voice hissed menacingly. Quatre pushed back the immediate panic he'd felt. Despite the unusual quality, there was no mistaking that now familiar voice.

"To spend time with you, Trowa," he answered calmly.

"Quatre?" Trowa asked. The hands around him loosened slightly, but still held him tight. Poor Trowa was probably confused at the innocent little blond breaking and entering is home.

It felt... right, Quatre thought. So right to be held tight by those arms. It was a tough thing, but Quatre managed to tilt his head until he could sort of see the man holding him. Trowa was staring down at him in confusion, and a little disbelief it seemed. His hair was slightly wet... oh, he'd probably been in the shower.

Quatre smiled, and Trowa's grip loosened even more. Quatre could have broke the hold if he wanted. If he wanted, that was. Which he didn't. Not in the slightest. He was right where he'd wanted to be for the past month.

Emerald eyes met with Quatre's own teal ones. Quatre snaked one arm free and slowly slowly lifted it, reaching back to slid his fingers through Trowa's still damp hair. It was very awkward, but Quatre managed it just the same, thanking Heaven for all the times he had to accompany Iria to dance class and gymnastics.

Fingers laced in caramel hair, Quatre pulled Trowa down just slightly, until their lips could meet. The kiss was awkward and sideways, but kissing Trowa was more than Quatre had dreamed of. The other man tasted of iced tea and peanut butter cookies and he smelled of a clean, spicy soap and Quatre simply melted.

At first, Trowa remained still, but then he, too, melted into the kiss. Neither knew who did it, but before the kiss ended Quatre was turned, facing Trowa, the kiss a proper kiss. Invitations were sent, received... accepted. Tongues met, danced, entwined. Quatre's hands ran over the bare skin of Trowa's chest and arms, brushing over erect nipples and long-healed scars. Trowa's fingers gripped Quatre's face, tilting him up, into the kiss and opening him for better access to that warm mouth.

"Oh, wow," Quatre breathed when they finally were forced by lack of air to part.

"I'm not going to be that perfect boyfriend you wanted... because I'm not perfect," Trowa said, a little breathless.

"I think you were the one that wanted the perfect boyfriend for me," Quatre smiled. "All I wanted was you. Is you."

"Okay," Trowa said, as if knowing it was useless arguing. "Just so you know."

"I like knowing," Quatre replied, leaning up for another kiss. "Knowing you, that is."

"I keep telling you, I'm not what you think," was the response. Quatre stared deep into Emerald eyes as his hands slipped up and down warm, bare, slightly wet skin.

"I know that," Quatre said. "I don't care, I know enough."

"Then take a look at me, Quatre. Take a look at who you're kissing, holding."

"I am," Quatre said, blinking up at him.

"Look at all of me."

Quatre blinked, confused. He took a small step backwards, and looked at Trowa. The light was dim, but Quatre could make out the skin before him. Dark, swirling. Vines, chains, bones. Knives, guns. Quatre held his breath as the sheer beauty, pain hit him. Trowa held out his arms, turning around. There was a stylized scythe on one shoulder, a pair of snow white wings under the blade. A pair of dice. A series of Celtic knots trailing straight over his spin. A drop of water, or a tear-drop- impossible to tell which. Designs, color, patterns, images. Rising from his wrists, around his arms, over his shoulders. Part of his chest, almost all of his back, trailing down below the low-riding waist-band of his jeans.

There were some scars, pale pink against the tan of the underlying skin, mixed in with the ink that dyed the skin.

Quatre's eyed slowly grew larger, rounder, as he took in the skin displayed before him.

"Trowa..." was his only reply, a simple breath of a name, as a drop of water sliding over the chest, over a small, blood red rose.

"See? I'm not what tyou think. Did you expect this? I keep telling you, you don't know who or what I am."

"I don't care," Quatre said, after swallowing.

Trowa gave a short, derisive laugh. "You don't care. You don't care that I grew up on the streets? You don't care that I spent a year overseas? You don't care that I've *killed* people? The tattoos tell a story, Quatre. My story. Can you read it?"

Quatre at first had just seen the tattoos, the cumulative effect of them. Now, he looked at the elements individually. He couldn't make heads or tails of it. But, listening to Trowa's voice, he paused to think. Maybe it wasn't either, but both. Each individual image and how it related to the others. It was like reading with letters and words linked into sentences. A story painted with pictured, etched into Trowa's skin for life.

Quatre reached out, taking Trowa's hand in his, fingers tracing the outline of the chains, shackles around Trowa's wrists, pausing at the broken link. "You were once bound by something, but no more. Something shackled you down, but you broke free. Your past, maybe? Your origins? Rising above, beyond what was expected of you." Quatre's hand moved to the knives, the gun, the bones. "Again, your past. Maybe you spent time on the streets, fighting. A gang or something equivalent to it. Time spent overseas. You didn't like what you had to do, but you did it. I understand that." Quatre raised his eyes up to Trowa's once more. "I can understand alot more than you give me credit for, Trowa. You're skin is a map of your life... a story. And it's one filled with pain, and very few bright spots," he touched the purple feather on his collar bone. "I want to be part of that story, Trowa. I want to be a bright spot."

Trowa stood rooted to the floor. How could the blond read him so easily? His eyes were wide as he stared into Aqua eyes. "You... you really want that?"

"I do. Will you let me be a bright spot? I just want to make you happy."

"Please," Trowa dropped his head wearily, resting his forehead against Quatres. "I can't promise it'll always be good, and I can't promise that sometimes I won't yell or act like an asshole... but Quatre, I'd never hurt you on purpose."

"I know," Quatre said, leaning up on his tippy-toes to brush another kiss across Trowa's lips. "The same goes for me, too. I'm not always nice and sweet. I'm often moody, I over-work myself, I don't always eat right, and I certainly can't promise that we'll always get along. But I will promise that all I want to do is make you happy, and I'll never, ever hurt you on purpose."

Trowa leaned down, meeting Quatre's lips more firmly.

"One day at a time?" He asked, lips against lips. Quatre's lips curved, and he nodded.

"One day at a time," he affirmed.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: WARNING! CITRUS ALERT!!!! There is a lime and a lemon in this chapter, so please read at your discretion. Also note that FFnet still hates me and won't save right, so forgive any errors. This makes twice that I have lost over half of this chapter. *sighs*

_**To See A World In A Grain Of Sand**_

_**Chapter Three**_

***Another Month Later***

Life, for the most part, didn't change for Quatre. Now, though, he got the occasional trips up to the apartment, and the occasional make-out session there. They'd not ventured past the kisses and occasional touches, but life seemed pretty good. And apart from the kisses, Quatre's routine didn't change that much.

Wufei made it clear that he didn't like Quatre hanging out on that side of town, but he admitted that nothing Trowa'd done seemed shady... and that he had no control of Quatre's choices.

Iria had visited once or twice (and had been smitten with Trowa), but Quatre'd made no headway with his father, and quite frankly Quatre didn't much care. All in all, Quatre was content. No... he was *happy*. For what seemed like the first time in a very long time.

He sat in Trowa's living room on a lazy Saturday evening, curled up beside his boyfriend, watching as a car exploded by flying into a helicopter. Trowa was mostly layed down on the couch, Quatre stretched on top of him, idly tracing the inky patterns on the honey skin. His finger trailed lightly across the bare chest beneath him, circled the nipple he found there. He kept his eyes on the screen, but he felt Trowa's shudder, heard the intake of breath. He schooled his features well, resisting the urge to smirk and feigning innocence as he toyed almost idly with the hardening little nub.

Trowa didn't move, or say anything, but Quatre felt the change in breathing, the change in heart-rate. Quatre enjoyed action movies. And he'd like to see this one, but if given the choice between Bruce Willis on the TV and Trowa here and now.... there was little choice there. He let his fingers drift with a feather light touch, let them drift lower, slowly across the hard plane of Trowa's stomach. Slowly, lower and lower.

By the time his fingers reached the waist-band of the jeans, Quatre had lost all interest in the movie, too intrigued by the shudders now running through his boyfriend. But when Quatre quietly flicked the button of the jeans open, Trowa stiffened.

"Quatre...." he breathed. A soft breath of warning.

Quatre shifted, lifting his head so that he could look down at the taller man. He saw... worry in those Emerald eyes. Caution. But no rejection. Trowa was merely wanting to be sure. Cautious, like they'd been so far. But Quatre was tired of slow. He wanted *more*.

"Trowa... no waiting. No more. I'm sure of this... sure of you. I want you... I want to please you. I want to feel you shudder, feel you writhing against me. I want to hear you moan my name. I want to *feel* you and to feel you cum. Please, Trowa."

Not waiting for a response, he slipped his hand under the loose denim, under to cotton boxers. Trowa's breath caught, then shuddered out when Quatre's long, slender fingers closed gently around his forming erection. Quatre watched in fascination as those green eyes clouded, then slipped closed. He moved his hand in a steady rhythm, though he was a bit nervous. He'd never done this before to another man, but if Trowa's reactions were anything to go by, he couldn't be too bad at it.

He brushed his thumb over the tip, spreading the precum that was gathered there, and the passage of his hand became easier. Trowa's breathing became ragged, his hips thrusting up, into Quatre's hand. Quatre kept up his rhythm, watching in rapt fascination at the emotions flickering across the beautiful face in front of him as slowly the orgasm built and built and built, and finally tumbled free. With a loud gasping moan, Trowa spilt his seed all over Quatre's hand and inside his jeans.

"Oh, wow," Quatre whispered. "Beautiful." He leaned up, pushing his lips against Trowa's in a heated, torrid kiss. He'd never thought that bringing Trowa to climax could turn him on so much, make him so hard.

It took a few moments under the kiss for Trowa's braincells to return, and for him to feel the hot bulge pressing against his thigh. Who *was* this wicked little angel? Trowa couldn't remember the last time he'd ever climaxed so hard from such a simple touch. How could this little one turn him on like that? The teasing, almost unsure touch that drove him wild.

Trowa let his hands trail down the soft, soft skin of Quatre's sides, brushing his hands under the loose T-shirt his boyfriend wore. Trowa had no qualms walking around his own home shirtless, but Quatre had seemed to have a modesty quirk.

"Quatre," Trowa whispered against the tender flesh of the neck he suckled on. "How... how far do you want this to go tonight?"

"Ah," was the reply. "All of you, Trowa. I want all of you."

Trowa squeezed his eyes shut, pulled his lips back. "Quatre, do you even know what you're asking me for?" He could not forget how innocent his tiny lover was. He *would not* forget.

Quatre caught the hesitancy in Trowa's voice, and found it as endearing as he did annoying. He leaned forward, pressed his lips against Trowa's cheek before swiping his tongue along the lobe of his ear.

"Trowa... let me put this clearly," he said, voice husky, breath warm against goose-bumped skin. "I want you to make love with me. I want you to use this," he palmed the renewing erection beneath him, "to drive me crazy and show me *exactly* how to get to heaven and back." He kissed along the rim of Trowa's ear. "Kiss me, touch me, use me, Trowa. I may not have done this with another man, but I am *not* as innocent as you think I am. You *are* going to take me through to the bedroom and you *are* going to make me beg and moan and scream. Understood?"

Trowa shuddered, but nodded shakily. Oh, dear Lord.... what kind of fiend did he have on his hands?

~*~*~*~

Trowa remembered the first night he'd met Quatre. That cunning and naivety that had endeared him to the hardened former street-rat. That innocence that often masked the devilish, almost wicked flip-side. Of course, Trowa had known Quatre wasn't *completely* innocent. The blond had described his occasional trysts with females, in vivid detail that sometimes had Trowa laughing and sometimes had him hard and throbbing.

Almost as hard as he was now, gently laying his soon-to-be lover on the warm cotton quilt that spread across his bed.

His bed.....

He'd never allowed any of his partners into his home before... much less allowed them all the way to his bed. There was something inherently different about Quatre; something that made *him* want to be different. Kisses were rained down on bare skin... their clothes being lost somewhere between the couch and the bed. Soft moans rose to greet his ears as Quatre reacted beautifully to every kiss, every touch. Trowa had never been exactly gentle or reverent in his bed activities... he hesitated to call it making love. How could you make love when that particular emotion had never entered into the equation? But his hands on Quatre were soft and slow, gentle, reverent. There was no rush, no meaningless words... nothing but the two of them and the soft sounds offered up unto the night.

This, Trowa thought, was making love. He didn't know quite how the blond had done it, but Quatre had wormed his way into Trowa's heart. Trowa reveled in the feeling, in the revelation... the epiphany.

He'd never felt anything like this before. It was simply amazing and he felt glorious.

Quatre looked up at Trowa, aqua eyes misty with emotion, as he watched his lover retreive lube and a foil packet from the beside drawer. He had no clue as to the revelation... the storm that raged inside Trowa... but he could see love shining out of those clear, verdant eyes when Trowa looked back at him. His eyes slipped closed as the first finger, slick and slippery, breached him. It felt different; uncomfortable but not quite painful. He moaned at the second finger's intrusion, then cried out as three fingers filled him, bringing a slight pain along with them... and then lights erupted behind his closed eyes. A rainbow kaleidoscope of shapes and colors filling his mind with unbelievable pleasure.

"More..." he begged, breaking the silence that was filled with the sounds of their bodies, the moans and cries and panting. This was heaven, he thought, never even noticing Trowa unrolling the condom onto himself and applying more lube. It had to be heaven; nothing less could feel this beautiful.

"More," Trowa replied, taking that last plunge inside. Quatre's eyes flew back open at the amazing sensations washing over him. The pleasure, and the barely there, mild, discomfort.

Trowa set a steady rhythm; never too fast, never too slow. After a few minutes, Quatre adjusted to the new feelings and began to move with him, as Trowa's hand snaked between them and wrapped around Quatre's erection, pumping it in time with his thrusts. It took several times for Quatre to match the rhythm, but he did; the two bodies slid against each other, moving in sync. Gasps, moans. Cries, screams. Whimpers, pants.

Sounds echoed around the room, a sliver of light from the street lamps fell through the window, casting a ethereal glow upon the occupants.

"I love you," Quatre whispered, back arching as release found him.

Trowa watched as Quatre climaxed, watched as the emotions played across that angelic face. With Quatre's fall into ecstasy, Trowa let himself go. As the wave crested over him, swamping him in an aqua colored ocean of bliss, Trowa replayed those words over and over and over in his mind.

I love you. Love? Quatre loved him? No. Quatre shouldn't love him. But Quatre's eyes couldn't lie. And love had been written all over that beautiful face.

Love, Trowa thought as the waves receded, leaving him feeling weak and wonderful. He rolled to the side, letting Quatre snuggle up next to him.

"Shower?" QUatre mumbled sleepily.

"Too lazy," Trowa replied, truthfully but absently.

Quatre chuckled. "Mmkay. But just remember if we wake up all sticky that I told you so."

"Deal," Trowa muttered, wrapping a possessive arm around the blond and holding him close. He wasn't letting Quatre go.

Which was another 'first'. He'd never slept with anyone; not all night, at least. Hell, most of his trysts had never made it as far as a bed. He'd never spent the night with one of his partners.

Quatre had broken through every last defense he had built. Trowa's shell was shattered, and he knew that Quatre had the power to destroy his very heart and soul... if he wanted.

And for some reason... despite being scared shitless about it.... Trowa didn't mind.

He brushed a hand over pale blond hair, a soft smile finding his lips in the darkness.

"I love you, too, my Quatre."


	4. Chapter 4

_**To See A World In A Grain Of Sand**_

_**Chapter Four**_

Trowa awoke confused.

His body was warm and sated. There was the still heady scent of sex on the air...

And his bed was empty, save for him.

Trowa groaned, tossing a hand over his eyes. What had he done? He'd taken Quatre to bed... his bed, where no other sexual partner had been before. Hell... Quatre wasn't a sex partner. He was a *lover*, something Trowa'd never had before. Hell... Trowa'd never been in love before, either. And now... he was alone.

He sat up, and pulled his knees up to wrap his arms around them and settle his chin on them. How badly had he screwed up? He hadn't thought he had... but maybe Quatre had become afraid? Maybe he'd thought things over and changed his mind?

Quatre was smart and successful. What would he see in a lower class glorified *librarian*? Trowa didn't have any self esteem issues. One couldn't go as far as calling him arrogant, but Trowa was a rather normal blend of modesty and vanity. To him, he thought his life was just fine. But he thought that Quatre might think otherwise.

It was at that point that Trowa realized there was music playing. In his home, stuck in the city as it was, he often heard what other's radios were playing. But this wasn't from somewhere else... it was from his living room.

Curious, Trowa got out of bed and pulled on a pair of cotton PJ pants and made his way down the hall. Out of the bedroom, the scent of maple and bacon teased his nose and the clear strains of Creed's 'Rain' greeted his ears.

'What the....' he thought, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen. The CD player in the living room was on, and Quatre was in the kitchen... cooking. The blond looked utterly adorable, baby soft hair sticking this way and that, wearing nothing but his boxers and his shirt, the latter of which was left unbuttoned. He was even barefoot.

Trowa's first instinct was to smile at the image.

His next was to frown as he berated himself. To think that Quatre would abandon him like that. No. Quatre wouldn't do that.

His faith reaffirmed once more, Trowa smiled again and settled at the bar to watch Quatre waltz around the kitchen.

"I hope you don't mind," Quatre said, taking a wet rag to wipe down a spot of flour he'd spilt onto the countertop. He moved about, tinkering with this and that, piling two plates with pancakes and bacon and setting the bottle of maple syrup on the counter. " I was riffling through the music, and I was just wondering about some of those songs. I like this one. I think I like this 'Creed' band in general. I thought you might be hungry... and I've got to make you breakfast before."

"It's fine," Trowa replied truthfully, cupping his chin in his hands and leaning his elbows on the bar. "I kind of like the image. And I guess it's nice to be pampered once in awhile."

Quatre laughed. That gusty, beautiful, musical laugh that Trowa loved. "Everyone deserves to be pampered a little at some point or other. And you deserve it, Trowa." The blond had noticed that Trowa always acted surprised when he did things... like this. Small, insignificant things.

"Has no one ever made you breakfast before?"

"No one's ever slept over before," Trowa replied, stating the truth again.

Quatre's eyes blinked up to his. "Never?"

Trowa shook his head. "No. I've never let any... acquaintance... into my home. You... you're more than that."

Quatre blinked, then laughed again, settling a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of his lover. "Trowa, you never 'let' me into your home. I picked the lock."

"Wherever did you learn that anyway?" Trowa asked, digging into his food. It didn't fit the overall image of Quatre.

Quatre chuckled, attacking his own plate with a little more dignity. "My friend Dorothy. Didn't I tell you? Dorothy went through her rebellious phase. I picked up a few tricks from her when she did. Lock picking, hotwireing cars... among other things."

Trowa lifted and eyebrow. "Wow. I'm dating a theif."

Quatre glared. "I am not a theif. That's despicable... taking something that belongs to someone else."

Trowa's amusement was suddenly tempered. His emerald eyes darkened a bit.

"I've stolen before.." he admitted.

Quatre met his eyes. "Would you steal now?"

"Probably not," Trowa replied. "I have no reason to now."

Quatre nodded. "Then that's all that matters. I believe people change."

Trowa shook his head. "No, Quatre. I'm still mostly the same person I was then. I haven't changed... only my position. I grew up on the streets. I *had* to steal to live. Some nights I couldn't, I went hungry. My friends went hungry. It was steal or starve. I have done some pretty horrible things in my life. I've stole, I've fought. I've killed. But I had my own reason for everything. Reasons, while they weren't the best... I think they justify what I had to do, at least to me."

"I don't care about that, Trowa. I care about who you are now, what you do now."

"I'm still that same person, Quatre. These hands," he reached a hand up, softly stroking it along Quatre's face. "These hands have blood on them. That's a stain that won't come off. Ever. Can you really love a murderer?"

"You may have killed," Quatre said, a trifle uneasily. "But you are NOT a murderer, Trowa Barton. That I do not believe." There was a fire in those eyes, and no argument was going to fly; Quatre would shoot any opposition down. He was just that stubborn.

But Trowa could see the blond was uncomfortable with the talk of Trowa's less than exemplary past. Of course, brought up as he was, Quatre would no doubt have all sorts of crazy ideas about how it had been on the streets, of how his friends were.

Of course... some of those ideas were probably true. But Trowa knew Quatre could see beneath all of that. Beneath the dirt and the dust, down to the diamonds and jewels that glittered underneath.

"Listen," he said. "What would you say to meeting a few of my friends?"

"What?"

"My friends. I want you to meet them. They're like my family. Think of it as sort of 'meeting the parents'."

"But... what if..." Quatre's eyebrows knitted together as he thought. "What if they don't like me?"

Trowa couldn't help it. He laughed. He'd expected horror. Worry- yes, he'd expected that. But not for this reason.

"Don't worry. They'll love you. In fact, they should all be at Solo right about now. Well, at least in an hour or so; they usually gather there if they're not working.

"Solo?"

"A bar. Come on." Mind made up, Trowa pulled his smaller lover to his feet, towards the door.

"Wait. Trowa, wait. I don't know about this." A bar in the middle of the day in this part of town, with people from Trowa's life... from his past. It was daunting and just a bit frightening.

Stoped by the tone of Quatre's voice, Trowa spun around, pressing his mouth against the blond's to quell any other argument.

"Quatre, please. You need to see," he said when he pulled away. "You need to understand."

"Okay," was the weak reply. "I'll go.... but can I at least put some pants on first?"

* * *

Solo wasn't *quite* the dark, seedy place Quatre had imagined. The lights were dimmed, but not all the way. A section in the back had a few people playing around a pool table, and there were about three people at the bar. Some of them wore black leather jackets, some plain white tanks, and some just looked... normal. The music wasn't as loud as he'd expected, and it was rather similar to the music he'd listened to back at Trowa's. Certainly not Creed... but it was still that rock kind of sound.

Trowa's hand on the small of his back guided him through a maze of empty tables towards a booth and table grouped together in the back. There were about seven or eight people in the group.

"Hey, guys."

"Trowa," the closest one greeted. "How's it hangin'?" Quatre peered closer. It seemed to be a male, from the face and the deep voice... but the hair! Quatre had never seen such long or well-maintained hair on anyone except a woman... well, and Zechs Merquis- but Zechs did not count. Dressed in all black, he sat on a backwards chair scooted up right next to the booth's seat, shoulder to shoulder with a young Japanese man with blue eyes. "Who's this? Not the new beau you were goin' on about?" The boy jumped up from his seat. "I'm Duo. You must be Cat, right?"

"Hold up, Duo. Give him a moment. Quatre, these are my friends- my family. You've just met Duo. That's Heero." The stoic looking Japanese man didn't even nod in greeting. "That's Hilde and Cathy." The two girls next to Heero nodded to him with small waves. Hilde was short with short cropped dark hair and Cathy seemed tall with curly red hair. Both wore, from what he could see, short mini skirts and tight fitted T-shirts with leather jackets. "That's Joshua" a black haired boy whose tan skin made Quatre think he was at least half Native American, sitting in between Hilde and Cathy. "Ralph's the one sitting on the table," another nod from the older man in chaps and a Harley Davidson denim jacket. "And the beautiful woman sitting on the booth, we call her Belladonna."

Quatre looked. The woman in question wasn't sitting in the booth's seat, but rather perched on top of the backrest, long legs crossed in front of her. She wore skin-tight light wash blue jeans, black flip-flops, and a strappy black tank top. Her ash-blond hair was pulled into two medium length twisty braids over her shoulders. She had about three simple earrings in each ear lobe, excluding the single hoop that shone in the carilage of the right ear. Based on that, Quatre wouldn't have been surprised to see her... or several of the others here... if not in his own usual haunts, then at least at the mall, even at the university he once attended.

It was her tattoos that stunned him, though. He saw the fierce head of a dragon over her collarbone. The coiling body draped over her shoulder. Vines, set with various figures, wrapped up her arms, twisting and snaking up until it intertwined with the dragon, and continued on down the other arm. Quatre knew there was probably alot more that he couldn't see, but the fact that he could see this much floored him. This woman wasn't like Trowa. Trowa's life was written onto his skin, and he refused to bare it in public, constantly wearing long sleeves, even in summer. He had a feeling this woman's life was written in her tatoo's as well, but she had no problem letting the world read it. But the question was... did they understand what they read?

"Why do they call you Belladonna?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Joshua and Duo laughed aloud, Ralph and the girls snickered. Belladonna smiled, as one would with a child, her gray eyes twinkling.

"Because that's her favorite way to off the guys that try to come onto her," Duo snorted.

Quatre's face must have shown his horror and shock, because Belladonna laughed and threw a balled up paper napkin at Duo.

"Don't listen to him, kid. They call me Belladonna.... because that's my name." she smiled, bowing a little at the waist. "Sally Belladonna Po, DVM, at your service."

"You're a vet?" Quatre asked, surprised.

"Yeah," she nodded. "You sound kind of floored to hear that. Heero here is a computer programmer and owns 78 percent of Wing Computer Corporation. Duo's in the Air Force... he's a pilot. Cathy works at the circus outside of town- she's an acrobat. Joshua's a legal aide to ADA Noventa. And Hilde's co-owner of a great mechanics shop with her uncle Howard, who adopted Duo. Ralph... he's a General Contractor- if you ever need to build a house, call on him."

Quatre's eyes went kind of wide.

"Wow..." he said. For the most part, these people looked and seemed like pretty normal, everyday people. Nothing like the thugs, gangsters or general no-goods that he'd thought. But of course, a part of him reasoned, how could you expect Trowa to associate with that type of people? Perhaps they were all just like Trowa himself... having crawled their way out of a bleak past to a successful future?


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for the late posting, but I was stuck on the end of this for a while. Much thanks and love to The Man Behind The Joker's Mask for being my inspiration and guiding light for this chapter! *hugs***

**...**

Trowa relaxed just a little. He knew he could count on his friends. Especially Sally. In some ways, she was the most normal of the bunch. And in some she was the oddest.

"Josh, Sally, scoot over a bit so we can sit down," he said. The two obediently scooted down further into the booth so that Trowa could steer Quatre to sit down. he drug a chair over for himself.

"Hey... More drinks. Trow, Cat... whatcha want?"

"The usual for me," Trowa said. "Quatre... would you like something to drink?"

"Um, I don't drink that much. Surprise me."

Duo grinned wickedly, and Trowa saw the mischevious glint in his eyes.

"Duo... get him an apple-tini or something. Nothing outrageous, okay?"

The braided boy pouted. "Aw... So no 'Sex on the Beach?'"

"And no screaming orgasms either," Sally warned.

Duo pouted as he skipped over to the bar.

"So, Quatre," Hilde looked at him. "What is it you do for a living? You work with computers or something, right?"

"Yeah, something like that. I create security systems and computer firewalls. Not just computers, but I design the whole set-up. From laser systems to the actuall computer system that controls it."

The boy called Heero looked up. "What company are you with?"

"Romeffeller," was Quatre's answer.

Heero frowned. "Their boss is an asshole."

Quatre shrugged. "It pays the bills. Insurance isn't that great, but I was sort of in a bind at the time. And my friend Wufei was nice enough to get me an interview."

"Wufei?" the boy blinked. "Not as in Chang Wufei..."

"Ain't that the guy who beat you out to win the Lovecraft deal?" Cathy asked.

"Yes," was the response.

"Wufei worked very, very hard for that deal," Quatre defended. "I had to call and remind him to eat and sleep. He spent a month on that program."

Duo slipped back down into his chair, dropping a loaded tray down on the table. "Yeah, well I had to do the same with Heero. That deal meant alot to him and the company. And the Darlian deal... he's gonna cinch that one when it opens up, right, babe?" He slid a tall glass in front of the other blue eyed boy, pressing a kiss up against his cheek.

Quatre frowned. "I'm afraid the Darlian deal isn't exactly up for grabs," he said.

Two pairs of eyes narrowed at him. "Clairify," Heero demanded.

"Relena Darlian happens to be my ex-girlfriend," Quatre explained. "I have the program already drawn up."

"But Wing has better connections with the Darlian family than Romefeller does," Duo argued. Quatre remembered something then... wasn't Relena's estranged brother, Zechs... wasn't he in some type of computer business?

"This isn't a Romefeller deal," Quatre admitted. "This deal has been in the works for years now. It was promised to WEI, but since I'm with Romefeller now, the deal goes to Romefeller."

"WEI? But Winner Enterprises isn't that big on security systems, or computer programing in general. I thought they mostly dealt in politics and science and stuff?" Duo asked, confused.

Quatre shrugged. "Like I said, it's *my* deal. When I left WEI, the deal went with me."

"*YOU* worked for WEI?" Heero asked incrediously. "How did you get a job there? And why the hell did you leave?"

Quatre swallowed, noticing he'd dug this hole himself without noticing. Of course they'd recognize the name. WEI *was* one of the largest corporations in America, and rapidly expanding in Europe and Asia as well.

"Well, getting the job was easy. I was set to inherite the entire company until a few months ago. As for leaving... my father couldn't accept that I was bi and we fought. I havent' spoke with him since then."

"Hold up," Cathy spoke up, holding her hands up. "You're Quatre *Winner*? You're *the* Quatre Winner? As in Sayid Winner's *only* son? Heir apparent of WEI?"

Quatre nodded. "Well... except for the heir part. I was disinherited. Oh... and I think I was disowned, too. Not too sure about that. But yeah... I'm that Quatre."

Joshua turned to Trowa. "You were dating a multi-billionaire and you didn't tell us?"

"I'm not a multi-billionaire," Quatre huffed. "Haven't you been listening to me? I was disowned. Disinherited. I have crappy health insurance and have to share an apartment. In fact... I probably make *less* than some of you!"

"Former mult-billionaire," Duo corrected helpfully, earning him an annoyed glare from the blond.

"Enough," Heero said, turning his blue eyes to Quatre. "Can you please explain why WEI... or you, apparently... are getting the Darlian deal?"

"I told you. Relena Darlian is my ex-girlfriend. We are still on good terms, and her father recognizes my skills. I've already done a lot of little projects for them."

"The Mercurius," Heero muttered. "That explains so much."

Everyone turned their eyes to Heero. Heero Yuy did *not* mutter. If he said something... he said it aloud. Heero looked at them. "About three years ago, there were rumors that Senator Darlian was going to contract someone to have a security system installed into his vacation home in California. Then, all of a sudden, the system was installed and nothing more was said about the deal. A month later, someone tried to break in because apparently the top secret army files for the Mercurius project were store on a computer in the house. They didn't even make it onto the front lawn past the gate before he was arrested, the system was that good."

Quatre ducked his head at Heero's gaze. "That was me," he affirmed. "I designed that system. It was the weight sensors installed under the concrete driveway that set off the silent alarm."

"Weight sensors," Heero muttered. "Of course. No one ever said *how* he tripped the alarm. Weight sensors. Damn. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're not me," Quatre shrugged. "See, there's reason I'm getting the deal for the security system in the new HQ for Darlian Inc."

Heero nodded. "If that truly was your work, I commend you. It still doesn't sit well that Romeffeller will get this deal. We were counting on this publicity."

"I'm sorry," Quatre said. He did feel sorry for this Heero. Over the months, while he was... content... with his job, he realized that's all it was. He'd already began the search for something else. If not for Wufei, he wasn't sure he'd really have still been there at all.

"If it helps at all," Quatre continued, "I'll ask to do it under the table, like I did last time. I was planning on that anyway. I don't like people making a fuss."

"So nobody gets the credit," Duo murmered. "We may not get the credit, but at least the other guys don't, either." Duo looked to Heero. "We don't win... but at least they don't either."

"Whatever your salary is there, I'm sure I could double it, if you liked. I'd kill to have a programmer of your caliber on my staff. Zechs would agree."

Quatre blinked. "I would, but I'm not keen on changing jobs, then having you dump me as soon as you get what you want- the Darlian deal."

"Heero wouldn't do that," Trowa comforted, placing a hand on Quatre's arm. "He's not that kind of person. And despite that, he'd keep you around just to spite Romeffeller."

"Damn right," Duo nodded. "Besides. If that was your system, then you've got great credentials, and would be an asset to Wing. Plus you've probably got connections we could use, too. It's not an un-selfish offer, but rather its a... mutually beneficial relationship."

"I'll have to think on that. Can I have until the end of the week to give you an answer?"

"Acceptable," Heero nodded.

"Now that we're done talking about **him**," Cathy said, "Maybe we can get back to what we **were** talking about. Duo? You were going to explain how that new jet was running."

Duo blinked. "Oh, yeah. That. There was a bit of turbulence after we hit mach one, but with a little tweaking it should be just..."

At that moment, Trow shifted, laying his arm on the back of Quatre's chair, and Duo was positive there was **some** type of footsie going on between them. He looked a little harder, and found that little glow in his eyes. A glow Trowa rarely had, even after nights when Duo knew he'd hooked up. Part of him was going to keep Tro's dirty little secret.

But then he remembered. He was Duo Maxwell. He **lived** to torment his friends and family.

"HOT DAMN AND HOLY SHIT! TRO GOT LAID LAST NIGHT!"

And then, he ran for the hills, one very pissed ex-soldier on his heels and a laugh on his lips.


End file.
